


Dusting (or Lusting)

by TwylaMercedes



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, a bit of language, sexual activity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-08 11:34:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8843128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwylaMercedes/pseuds/TwylaMercedes
Summary: While CharlotteAshmore is giving us sweet, fluffy 31 Days, I keep having very naughty images of Dark Castle shenanigans with a twist of smex (no innocent cuddling for me, apparently) and, with her encouragement, I finished this smutty tale of Belle’s misadventure with a Lust Potion.





	1. Chapter 1

“Whatever has she been up to now?” Rumplestiltskin, the most powerful sorcerer in seven realms fretted over his little maid.  He’d been telling himself that he only valued her for her dusting skills, certainly not her cooking skills (although those little peach tarts she had learned to make were very tasty).  He certainly didn’t enjoy spending time in her company and certainly took no pleasure in seeing those bright blue eyes light up when he came into a room.

He had (reluctantly) given her the run of the castle – after warding it so that under no circumstances could she leave the place.  He’d only warned her away, in fact, forbade her, from entering the North Tower – it was just too damn dangerous.  But she was too curious by far, always picking up stuff and peeking into things and just generally asking far too many questions.  He’d be annoyed – except he enjoyed hearing the soft, dulcet tones of her voice.

But now, he’d come back into the Great Room and the place was in disarray.   Earlier in the day, he’d deposited about twenty potions on the main table.  He’d picked them up from the Witch of the East in exchange for disposing of some pesky munchkins.  He’d set them on the table while he went to the Tower to deal with some disgusting androgs that had clung to him when he’d traversed the Malicious Swamp.   He’d spent a while pulling their slimy suckers off his body.  When he returned to retrieve the potions, he'd found the place was a mess.  He sighed and surveyed the damage.  As best he could tell, she had tipped over one of the potions and then she had tried to clean up the mess.

He had no idea what she had gotten herself into and in frustration, he'd ‘summoned’ her.

She appeared before him wearing only her little pantaloons and a thin chemise top.  She had a wet cloth in hand and was laying it on her bare porcelain skin.  When she saw him, her eyes lit up.

“Master, I didn’t know you were back.  I’m so glad to see you.  It’s always nice to see you.” She licked her lips.

“Yes, yes,” he said warily.  _She wasn’t herself.  Not at all._

_What potion had she gotten into?_

She was brushing her hair back, lifting it off her neck, tilting her head back.  ‘Ahh, so hot, so very hot,” she murmured.  And then she kicked off her shoes and peeled off her thin white socks.

“Belle?” he asked.  “Are you all right?”

“Why yes, Master.  I’m quite all right,” and she smiled and advanced on him.  She placed a hand on his arm, then ran her hand up his arm.  “Mmmmm, you feel nice.”  She leaned in and sniffed him.  “You smell so good too.  Really, really nice.”

He stepped back from her.  “What is wrong with you?”

“I’m just very, very hot,” she explained.

“What happened?” he demanded to know.  _He had to figure out which potion she’d dumped out._

“I was dusting in here.  I was reading and accidently tipped a potion over.  I cleaned it up and then it started getting hot,” she spoke slowly, tracing her hands down her neck, over her breasts and down to her hips, molding her thin undergarments to her ripe little body.

“Potion?  You tipped a potion over?” he asked, concern beginning to grow.  _Exactly what he had suspected.  Now which potion had she gotten into?_

“Yes, the red one,” she told him, tipping her head back and pulling her hands back so that she could run them over her breasts again.

_Damnation. He was right . . . she’d been exposed to one of these dangerous potions.  The red one?  The red one!  Most likely that was a Lust Potion.  She’d been exposed to a Lust Potion! – and there was only one cure for exposure to a Lust Potion._

“I feel so warm, so . . . so . . . I don’t know.  What is wrong with me, Master?” she was becoming alarmed and turned to him for help.

“Belle, uhm,” _How, how was he going to tell his sweet maid what he thought might be going on here?_

_Oh, but now the Imp was excited.  “There is only one cure, you know that, Spinner.  You won’t be able to dance around this one.  You can let her suffer or you can address her needs – all of her needs.”_

_The Spinner was unsettled.  This wasn’t right – it wasn’t respectful, it wasn’t decent._

_“So, you’re prepared to let her suffer?  It will only get worse,” the Imp warned him._

_“But maybe if she has some time, it would wear off?” the Spinner suggested hopefully._

_“Hah!  No, this type of potion must be assuaged.  It does not wear off.  We will have to see to her,” the Imp informed him._

_Belle had begun to pull on her chemise, undoing the laces, which left an interesting play of shadows open to his gaze._

“Master,” she moved toward him, laying her hand on his arm again.  She slowly moved her arm up the silken shirt.  Her eyes were darkened, the pupils fully dilated and her mouth was open, her lips moist and full.  “Can you . . . can you help me? Please . . . I need . . . I need . . .” and she leaned in, standing on her tiptoes to place a kiss on his chin. 

Rumple closed his eyes.  He very nearly groaned.  He felt her warm lips on his face, moving gently, her mouth open and pressing against his cheek, her breath hot and moist against him.  He turned his face and now her lips were on his. 

He couldn’t stop himself. The Spinner and the Imp both wanted this, perhaps for different reasons, but nonetheless, they both wanted her in their arms, pressed against them, whimpering, writhing with need. 

“Belle, I don’t think . . .” the Spinner made an effort but the Imp quieted him.

_“Look at her, Spinner.  She suffers.  She has desires.  Address them.  Take care of her.  There is only one cure for the Lust Potion and you know what must be done.”_

She was still kissing him and muttering between her little efforts,  “Oh, that helps, that helps so much, but, Master I . . . I  . . . I need more, please,” she begged him slipping her hands inside his vest, fumbling with the fastenings, loosening the vest, and slipping it off her Master. 

“Perhaps,” the Spinner told her.  Perhaps he could bring her to some level of satisfaction without actually . . . without taking her.

_“Coward,” the Imp taunted him.  “She’s yours, she’s been yours.  You own her.  Take her, take her to your bed.”_

_“But it’s just lust, not love.  It’s just the body, not the mind or the soul.  It’s not right,” the Spinner whined._

_“She will suffer until you give her what she needs.  Aren’t you man enough?  What is that useless appendage between your legs for, anyway?  And after I’ve gifted you a lot more to work with there. Afraid you won’t be able to satisfy her like you couldn’t satisfy Milah? Like I had to take over when you were with Cora?  Do you need me to step up to do the job again?” the Imp pressed him._

_“I can do it!” the Spinner said.  “If I need to, I can do it.  But I’m going to try something else first, something that won’t require me to take her maidenhead,” he insisted._

_“Hah!” the Imp was duly disgusted with his host._

“Belle, my dear,”  he addressed her softly.  

“Yes, my Master.  How can I please you?  I want to please you,” she responded, rubbing herself against him.  She looked up at him, her eyes so filled with desperation.  “Please,” she whispered, her eyes half-closing as she leaned in and placed her lips on his chest.

“All right,” he managed to croak out. _Oh, but she was so beguiling._ And she was still kissing him, her little hands moving down the sides of his body, coming together on the buckle of his belt, fumbling, trying hard to unfasten it.  He should stop her, he ought to stop her, it would be the right thing to stop her.

But he couldn’t. 

And his body was beginning to respond.  It was hard to ignore --  this beautiful woman, half-stripped off, rubbing herself against him. Of course, his body was beginning to respond.

“Bedroom,” he muttered and they were now both in . . . he spared a glance, his bedroom.  Perhaps, he should have taken her to her own bedroom _but that’s not where you want her, is it Spinner?  You want her in your bed, naked, all spread out, her hair, her arms . . . her legs.  All for you._

Belle took a step back from him, keeping her eyes locked with his and dropped the chemise, slowly slipping it from her shoulders, then sliding her long drawers down her legs. stepping out of them and revealing herself to him.

He had stopped breathing.  He knew he should breathe. 

But he couldn’t remember how.

“You are beautiful,” he finally managed to tell her.  And she was.  Perfectly formed, perfectly proportioned.  “Beautiful.”  The potion, the necessity, the need, all had made her softer, more vulnerable, more inviting.  She was irresistible. 

“ _Look at that.  She’s really a fine piece, you know, and I’ve seen plenty of naked asses,” the Imp taunted him.  “Just look at those tits – high and firm – just begging for your touch.  Grab ‘em!  Pinch ‘em!  Go for it!”_

“You will help me?” she asked him, her voice soft.

_Oh yes.  He would help her._ “Yes,” he agreed.  And he held out his hand to her. 

She took it and dropped to her knees, pulling his hand to her mouth, kissing his fingers, sucking each one into her mouth.  It was snug and warm in the confines of her mouth.  There was the feel of her gently pulling on his fingers, swirling her tongue around each one, keeping her eyes locked on his. 

“Do I please you, master?” she asked him.

“Yeah,” he answered, his voice hoarse and faltering.    _The Imp had slyly inserted the image of her mouth on his cock, repeating those same snug swirling movements with her mouth and tongue._

“What else shall I do to please you?” she reached for his thigh, her hand slipping in between his legs and resting just below his manly parts. She began to caress his thigh.  “I’ve not been with a man before, Master.  You shall have to tell me what to do,” she whispered.

_Oh, he knew this sweet torture would never be over until he had assuaged the hunger that had sparked into life within her.  He had to stop her from fanning the flames of his own desires or he would lose control to the Imp.  He was barely holding on as it was.  The Imp would not hesitate to take what she was offering._

“In the bed, wench,” he ordered her and she scrambled up onto rich, silk damask coverlet.  She knelt in the center of the bed, her hands on her thighs. 

“Is this what you want, Master?’  

_No. It wasn't even close to what he wanted._

“Lie back,” he told her. “On your back.” And he got on the bed beside her.  And then he began.

He traced his hand down her body, made hot from the potion.  She was soft and lifted herself to his hand.  He allowed his hand to caress her breasts, trailing his fingers in circles, tweaking the hardened little peaks.  She gasped and closed her eyes.

“Yes, Master.  More, please.”

He continued to touch her, now touching her stomach and her hip.  She was panting. 

“Yes, yes, Master.  Please keep touching me.”

Using only his fingers, he gently trailed over to the soft curls between her legs.  He brushed against her, hearing her gasp.  She was wet.  There was no questioning her desire. 

_But it was desire fueled by a spell – not any genuine desire.  And he would be a cad to take advantage of her but he would be a bounder not to address her needs.  There was no right thing to do.  He knew the power of the potion would only continue to grow until, and it required this, someone else to bring her to climax.  If this didn’t happen, the tension, the desire would become all-consuming and unbearable.  It would drive her mad._

He slipped his fingers between her legs, touching her, rubbing her.  She parted her legs to give him better access and clenched her hands into the silken covers. 

“Yes, yes, please, please,” she begged him. 

_This was new territory for him and he had to allow the Imp to guide his actions.  Milah had never encouraged his touch and Cora had always wanted to go directly to fucking.  Bringing a woman to her peek using his hands required some finesse.  The Imp surged forward and eagerly assisted him._

_“Touch her firmly, rub along the sides of her little nub.  Yes, like that.  Keep at it, steady, maybe a little faster. Watch her body.  Listen to her.  She’s ripe.  She’s ready.  She’s almost there.”_

With the Imp’s guidance, Rumple continued to use his long, clever fingers to stimulate his lovely little maid to the critical point.  He watched in wonder and amazement as her body suddenly stilled and then she began to thrash against his fingers.  She called out his name, “Rumple!” and his hand was flooded with the sweetest honeyed nectar.  He couldn’t stop himself, bringing his hand to his nose and licking his fingers.

_She tasted delicious._

There, he thought, that should do it.  The Lust Potion should be satisfied.  He watched as her breathing slowly returned to normal.

But then she began to writhe, drawing her legs up and rubbing her hands on her arms.

“Please,” she whispered to him.  “Don’t go, not yet.”  She reached for him, rolling over and placing a kiss on his leather-clad thigh.  She draped her arm over his lap, her arm placing pressure on his well-engorged cock.  “That helped.  But . . . I still . . . I need . . . more,” she managed to tell him.

_Oh shit!  He wasn’t sure what else he could do besides . . . oh, but, no, he didn’t want to do that.  The Spinner was still a decent guy and an honorable one.  He didn’t want to dishonor his little maid – even though he knew it was widely assumed that he had already debauched the young woman, hell, he knew it was assumed that he had raped her and was continuing to do so, subjecting her nightly, daily,  to his monstrous, unnatural desires._

_“All right Spinner,” the Imp addressed him.  “Use your mouth.”_

_“What?!” he wasn’t sure what the Imp was directing him to do._

_“Put your mouth where your hand was.  Use your tongue in the same places you had your fingers. Lick her,” the Imp directed him. “Gently, softly, blow on her.  Some bitches like you to suck them and some don’t.  Listen to her.  You’ll be able to tell what she likes.  Go on.  You already know she tastes like honey and roses.”_

So Rumple lowered himself between her legs, kneeling between her legs and spreading her soft, pliant thighs.  He dropped his mouth to her nether lips and she screamed, “Yes, yes, yes,” urging him on, pleading with him, begging him for more, more.

Rumple focused intently on what he was doing, enjoying himself more than he had ever imagined he might.  While he knew he was giving her considerable pleasure, he was also enjoying himself, savoring the tastes and textures of his little maid, learning her body and quickly realizing what kinds of things she liked.  Flicking his tongue over her seemed to particularly excite her and soon enough, she again screamed, screamed his name, while her body spasmed under his administrations. 

“Oh Rumple,” she sighed and sank down into his bed.  “That was incredible.  I never . . . I never felt anything like that.”  She squirmed in his silken sheets, nestling down into the smooth, cool comfort they offered.

He was very aware of his own erection at this point.  It was straining, pulsing against his tight pants – very uncomfortable. 

She turned to him.  “Take these off,” she begged, rubbing the back of her hand against his pants.  “I want to see you, feel your skin.  You are so beautiful.” 

He snorted.  _She thought him beautiful. No doubt the potion was still wreaking havoc in her veins._

_“You’re an idiot!” the Imp addressed him.  “All this foreplay had been great but now it’s time for the Main Event.”_

_“But I’ve given her satisfaction now, twice.  The potion should have run its course,” he protested._

_“Well, it hasn’t been enough – obviously!” The Imp was gleeful._

Belle had leaned over and was running her hand over the front of his breeches.  When she leaned over to place her mouth over him, he nearly yelped.

_“You’re gonna have to fuck her, Spinner.  Otherwise, you’ll leave her in this needful state.  Even I wouldn’t be that cruel.”_

_But inside he was shaking his head.  This, this he had not wanted to do.  To have his virgin maid as he would have his bride._

_The Imp was whispering in his ear, “Oh, come on, you know what to do.  I mean, you managed to squeak a kid out of your seed at some point, so you must have managed to stick it into a woman at least one time on your own.  I’ll help you . . .”_

_“No!” he told the Imp.  If he were going to deflower his serving wench, he was going to do it and not with the Imp in his ear.  He certainly didn’t want to share her with the Darkness._

_She was too pure, too special._

“Belle,” he spoke softly to her.  She was actively addressing herself to him, running her open mouth up and down his leather pants, stimulating, embracing his hardened cock as she could, whimpering, still begging to be allowed to touch him.

He lifted her up and was greeted with a soft cry.  “Please, Master.  I still need more, more,” she told him.

“I know, my dear, I know.”  He gently pushed her back and magicked off his own clothes.  He had never been so ready for a woman, his member swollen and so hard and engorged that he was pressed up against his stomach.  He nearly lost control when he felt her fingers wrap themselves around him.

“No, darling,” he somehow managed to pull her hand away.  “I won’t last if you touch me.”

“All right,” she said in a small voice.  “I want you to last,” she whispered.

He had quickly managed to position himself, the head of his cock just at her very wet, softened entrance.

“Belle, are you sure?” _He had to ask, even though he knew she was deeply under a spell, he had to have her permission._

“I love you, Rumple,” she told him.  “I’m sure.”

And he surged into her, her tight body stretched to allow him entrance.  She gasped, wincing and Rumple cursed himself. 

The Imp had graced him with a rather large cock, something Cora had remarked upon, even complaining in her petulant manner that it made her sore, but she still initiated activity often enough, so he had never regretted his new size.  But now, he wished he was his pre-Curse size so that he wouldn’t cause his sweet, petite Belle discomfort, even injury.  He managed to still himself and give her time to adjust and then, when he thought his head might explode from the effort of being motionless, Belle lifted her head up to kiss him.  He took that as a signal that she was ready to go on and he began to thrust.  Belle greeted each thrust with a soft cry.

“Faster, harder, please, please,” she began to beg him and he obliged.  By now he had a good feel for her body and could tell she was close again and he was doing everything he could to push her over the edge.  It was hard for him to hold on, the sleek, snugness of her passage holding him, caressing, pulling him in, more and more, deeper and deeper. He began using his magic to surge into her as his body did the same.  It was cheating, yes, but it was so, so good.

This time the scream started low, as a series of yelps, increasing in pitch and intensity.  When she broke, the cry was nearly a wail, a long, piercing shriek that he recognized as his name.  He could feel her tight walls clenching him, massaging him and he let go, spilling himself, pouring himself into her. 

It was the most satisfying coupling of his life. 

Belle kissed him and fell into a genuine sleep.

Rumplestiltskin, the Dark One, lay next to her.  He magicked a soft cotton blanket for her, covering her naked body.  He magicked some clothes for himself, linen pants and a linen tunic.  He reached over and stroked her hair.

_“Well, well, she was quite the tasty little treat.  And you could have been indulging yourself with her all this time.  No reason to keep separate bedrooms now,” the Imp told him.  “Perhaps next time, you’ll let me have a go at her?”_

_“There won’t be a next time,” Rumple told the Imp.  “I’m going to give her a dream potion so all this will be but a vague, distant befuddled memory.”_

_“Will we take one too?” the Imp asked him._

_Rumple considered.  No, he wanted to keep this memory and if . . . in the very unlikely situation that they would ever be together in the future, he wanted to know that he had been her first, that he wouldn’t wonder if she might have given herself to someone else before him.  Yes, he had to keep the memory, he had to remember._

_“Do you think you’ll be able to keep your hands off the wench now?” the Imp pressed him._

_“Yes, I do.”  He looked down at the sleeping woman.  “She doesn’t really want me.  I know that.  I’ll not force her into my bed.”_

_“She told you she loved you,” the Imp reminded him._

_“It was just the potion,” he told himself.  “Just the potion.”_

_Of course, she didn’t love him.  How could she love a monster, a beast like himself?_

_“You’re a coward, a disgusting weak coward!” the Imp screamed at him, retiring to the corner of his mind that it resided in._

Belle woke up in her own bed feeling an unusual ache all over her body. 

_And the remnants of a dream haunting her._

She had been dusting, walking along in a half a daze reading a book while she cleaned the Great Hall.  She hadn’t even noticed that the Sorcerer had put a collection of bottles on the dining room table.   She had knocked one of them over.  It was red and syrupy and sweetly fragrant, like cherries and cream.  Frantic, she had used her dust cloth to sop up the viscous syrup and some of it had soaked through to touch her on the side of her thumb.  She had lifted her hand to her mouth and _oh heaven_ it was delicious.  She dipped her finger into the syrup and tasted more, then more, then even more, of the gooey, sticky potion. 

And then she had awakened here, in her bedroom, aching all over.

It was late morning.

_Oh no! Her Master would be expecting his morning tea and she, most certainly, was late._

Belle quickly changed from her cotton nightgown into her blue dress and apron.  She hurried downstairs to the kitchen passing by the Great Room as she scurried along her way.

“Running a bit late this morning, aren’t we, dearie?” he asked her.  He was sitting at the table, now cleared off, working on some scrolls.

“I am, sir,” she quickly agreed with the cantankerous imp.  “I don’t know what happened. I was dusting in here and . . . “

“You spilled one of my potions, didn’t you?” he asked turning his full attention toward her.

She hung her head.  “I did.  I’m so sorry.”  _No reason to lie about it.  Nothing happened in the Dark Castle that he didn’t know about._

He sat back, his odd amber eyes narrowing.  “You know it happened to be one that takes a month to brew.  A sleeping draught.”

“I didn’t know.  I’m so sorry,” she stood still waiting for a reprimand.

“Well, watch yourself in the future,” was all he said and turned back to his scrolls.  “Last night, I found you fast asleep on the floor and had to transport you up to your bedroom.  And then this morning, I had to make my own breakfast.  Now you’re finally up, you can bring me my tea.  Late is better than never.  Be quick about it.”

Belle nodded and hurried by, stopping to glance back at her Master before opening the door that led to the kitchen. 

He was trailing his fingers down a scroll, his long, elegant fingers, his eyes half closed as he assimilated some arcane information.

_And an image of those fingers trailing down between her legs bubbled up and she shivered._

_It had to have been a dream.  Of course, it had been. He had placed her on his bed and done remarkable things to her with his fingers, his mouth, his . . . ._

_Of course, it was all a naughty, erotic dream.  A very satisfying dream, but just a dream, she told herself._

_Just a dream._


	2. Afterward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I had no intention of writing a second chapter on this little story, but people were disappointed that Rumple had not faced up to The Morning After – instead, altering Belle’s memories of the event into a dream.   
> So, what happens when she does remember it was not a dream?

Rumple was, well, uncomfortable.  He now had deep intimate knowledge of his little maid, how passionate, how responsive she was and now _damn it_ every little innocent movement on her part was reminding him of their one night together, their one wonderful night together. 

But he knew it could never happen again.

+ 

Rumple seemed different. 

Oh, it wasn’t anything in particular.  But he definitely seemed different. 

Belle wasn’t sure what was different, what had changed, but he seemed more skittish around her. The all -powerful sorcerer was quick to find a reason to go somewhere else in the Dark Castle to work, whereas before he had seemed to enjoy sitting and spinning by the fire while she read to herself or even read to him in the cold evenings.  And there were times that he was downright unpleasant, letting her know his tea was too cold or too hot or too bitter or too brown or too something and then he’d complain that she was sweeping too loud.  Other times he would sit, just sit, and glare at her as if she was doing something wrong. 

She had thought she was making progress with the Dark One, engaging the more human side of the creature, getting him to talk, even smile from time to time.  She had begun to see another aspect of the entity she called Master, a kinder, gentler side. 

But that aspect was suddenly gone.

And she couldn’t figure out why.

It started when . . . when?  When had it started?  As best she could remember the change had started when she had turned over that potion, the sleeping draught and he’d had to transport her to her bedroom and get his own breakfast the next morning.  He’d been a bit prickly then and had just gotten more and more fractious.

Well, perhaps he’d been bested in a deal – Belle was sure that would have to happen every so often.  Or he was worried about some deal that was coming up.  Or . . .  or . . .

Oh, perhaps he was just being an arse she thought as she finished dusting in the Grand Hall.

She had tried several times to making overtures, most recently putting a little flower in a small vase on the tea tray next to a nice cherry tart with icing as a special treat.  He hadn’t seemed to notice the flower (but he had eaten the cherry tart).   When she had suggested reading to him from one of his favorite books, he had harrumphed and gruffed his way through the rest of the meal time and had then scudded off.

She shrugged.  She would just have to give him some time – like she had when she had first been brought to the Dark Castle.

+

This morning, he’d shouted at her that he would be gone until supper time and she thought this might be a good time to clean his bedroom.  He didn’t use the room very often, apparently only sleeping there on odd occasions and she hadn’t found it necessary to wash his bedsheets weekly as she did her own. 

She wasn’t quite comfortable in his room.  It was dark, darker than her own bedroom, the walls, floor and ceiling all a dark gray stone and the bed a very dark brown, almost black, wooden affair, a large, carved four-poster.  She had picked up his discarded clothing and then had touched the dark red damask silk coverlet and . . .

Belle held her breath.  She had a flash of . . . _something._

_It was that dream._

_The one she’d had while under the influence of the sleeping draught.  Something came to her clearly and she now remembered lying on this coverlet – not the coverlet in her own bedroom, but **this** coverlet – in **his** bedroom.  She was . . . oh my . . . she was nearly naked and Rumple . . . Rumple was touching her, touching her in the most intimate manner, evoking the most intense feelings._

The details were unclear but she remembered that he had given her pleasure, a lot of pleasure.

Belle stood a moment looking down at the coverlet.  Suddenly she laid down on it, lying on her back. 

_Now this too seemed familiar.  Lying on this bed, looking up at the ceiling, the dark beams crisscrossing over cream-colored plaster, beneath her, her fingers clenching the covers, and his head . . . oh my stars, his head was between her legs and his mouth and his tongue were touching her in a way she had never imagined a man might touch a woman and stars were exploding all around her._

Belle lay still on the bed.  This dream she’d had, it had seemed so real and now lying on this bed, on this coverlet, it seemed even more real, as if it had happened and  . . .

Belle considered what to do next.

_In the dream, she had been lying naked, her skin in contact with the silken cover._

Belle began to pull off her clothing, shoes, socks, apron, dress, and slip.  She wore now only her pantaloons and chemise top.  She rolled around on the soft smooth coverlet wearing just her undergarments.  She took a deep breath and pulled these last two items from her body.

She now lay back on his bed on the red silk. 

_Oh yes, in her dream he had removed his clothing and had centered himself.  She remembered . . . oh no, she remembered, he was gentle, carefully penetrating her, and there were her own shameful pleas to him to go faster, go harder and then the world imploding into the most intensely pleasurable experience of her life._

And now she remembered how sore she had been the next morning and how different Rumple had been and . . .

_What if it was not a dream?_

What if it had happened, her Sorcerer had drugged or magicked her and raped her and then drugged/magicked her again so that she would forget about what had happened?

What if it had happened more than once?

 

Perhaps he was a monster.

 

Stunned, Belle redressed and sat in the middle of his bed. 

She was still sitting on his bed when she felt him summon her.  She was upset.  She was angry.  She was afraid.

“Belle!” he called her sharply and she abruptly found herself sitting in the middle of the dining table in the Great Hall. “What have you been up to?  Where is my supper?” he demanded.

She looked at him, all her feelings aflame in her eyes, and he stepped back from what he was seeing. 

“I’ve been in your room, on your bed, remembering a dream that I had.”  She shifted so that she was sitting on the edge of the table, her legs dangling off.  “It wasn’t a dream, was it?”  she asked him.  “You drugged me.  You . . . you . . .” she couldn’t bring herself to say it.

“Belle,” anguish in his voice and his face.  “What you think . . .” he began.

“What am I supposed to think?” she asked him.  “I come into contact with a potion, fall asleep and you . . . you . . . take advantage, horrible advantage of me?”

“No, Belle, it wasn’t like that.”  He seemed desperate.

“Then what was it like?” she demanded.

His shoulders had slumped and he was no longer the cocky, swaggering imp.  “The potion wasn’t a sleeping draught,” he began.

“So what was it?” she asked.

He licked his lips and slowly told her, “You had come into contact with a Lust Potion.”

“A what?” she asked.

“A Lust Potion.  It casts a type of spell that will drive its victims mad unless they receive the antidote,” he began.

“And what is the antidote?” she asked, suspicion forming quickly.

He couldn’t make eye contact with her.  “There is only one.  It . . . Belle, if there had been any other way,” he tried to excuse himself.

“And just what is the antidote?” she repeated her question.

Rumple seemed unsure of himself but managed to stutter out, “I . . . I . . . I tried to cure it without . . . but . . .but what I did . . .it . . .it didn’t work and you were . . . you were getting worse.”

“So, you put me on my back and had your way with me.”

He nodded, hanging his head.

“And then you had me forget about it.”

“Not exactly.  I just made it so that you’d think you’d had a dream and not remember it as really happening and . . . how did you remember anyway?”

“I was in your room and the coverlet, the red silk coverlet made me start remembering the dream,” she told him. 

“Belle, I knew that a maiden of your standing, hell, any maiden . . . oh fuck!” he ran his fingers through his hair.  “Any woman wouldn’t want me.   You couldn’t want me.  You would never have chosen me for your first time.”

She slid off the table and approached him.  “So you made this decision on your own, deciding what was best for me.”  She shook her head, “And here I had come to believe that you were better than my father and all those court men who would never let me make decisions for myself, who always thought they had to protect me and keep things from me.”

“Would you rather I had taken all your memories from you?” he asked plaintively.

“Those weren’t your only two choices, you idiot!” she nearly screamed at him.  She was standing toe-to-toe with him.  “You should have spent the rest of the night with me, holding me like you did when you made love to me, telling me how beautiful, how special you thought I was and explained what had happened in the morning when I woke up with you.”

“But I didn’t want you to wake up with me, the monster that had stolen your virginity . . .” he tried to explain but Belle was having none of it.

“I’ve told you that YOU ARE NOT A MONSTER!  You’re not a beast!  You saved me from madness, from the consequences of my own clumsiness.  You were kind and gentle when you could have been cruel and hurtful.  What other kind of man do you think I would have wanted to give myself to?  What other kind of man do you think I would have wanted to wake up to after a blissful night of passion?”

“Belle, I’m not that man.  I’m not a man.  I didn’t . .  . Belle, no one can love me.  I’ve done terrible things.  No matter what you say, what you believe, I am a monster.”

“Not to me you aren’t.  At least,” she paused,  “you weren’t until you pulled this stunt.”  Her eyes were flashing and her cheeks were flushed. 

“I’m sorry,” he said in a small voice. 

“ _Oh good grief,” the Imp said.  “Who’s the master in this house?  You or this slip of a girl?  She’s going to have you fetching her tea if you don’t watch yourself.  You fingered her, you ate her out and you fucked her and you enjoyed it and, you know what?  So did she.”_

Rumple had sat himself in a chair while Belle raged around him. 

“How can I trust you now?” she asked.  “How can I believe anything you tell me, knowing that you would use magic to avoid your problems rather than really trying to solve things?” 

_Well, Rumple couldn’t think of any way out of the hole he had dug himself into._

_“Let me have a go at her,” the Imp cajoled him.  “I won’t hurt her,” he promised the Spinner._

Belle was pacing, “Have there been other situations you have taken my memories or made them into a dream?  Am I even really here?”  She started to hyperventilate.

Rumple-Imp stood up and put his arms around her, gently turning her to face him, “Oh dearie.  You’re making this more than it is.”  He pulled her to him and whispered, “This is real.” And he kissed her. 

It was deep and possessive and it made her head spin.  Belle couldn’t help but return the passion, but . . . there was something . . . off.

When Rumple pulled back, Belle looked more confused than inflamed.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I . . . I don’t know,” she told him.  “I . . . you . . . are different,” she finally said.

_“Well damn,” said the Imp.  “Here, now, why don’t you take over,” he said to the Spinner._

And this time, Rumple pulled her close and kissed her again, soft, gentle but persistent and slow, very, very slow.

And when he pulled back, Belle’s eyes were closed, her head was tilted back and she was resting in his arms.  “Oh,” was all she managed to say.

_The Imp snorted.  “All right, all right, I’ll give you the kissing prize.  I never would have thought it, but she clearly prefers how you slobber and drool over her rather than my cool, sophisticated style.”_

Rumple ignored his alter-ego.  “Belle, do you understand why I did what I did?”

“Maybe,” she said.  “I had accidently bespelled myself and you broke the spell the only way it could be broken and then, you felt bad about what you’d had to do.”

“And I tried to cover it up and hope I could make it all go away.  I never thought you would be all right with me . . . with us . . . with what I did.”

“I just wish that afterward we could have . . . I don’t know . . . talked about what happened,” Belle told him.  She shook her head, “But now . . . now I don’t know that I can trust you.”  With tears in her eyes, she backed away from him and turned to run out of the hall.

_“Stop her!” the Imp ordered him.  “She can’t run away from you.  She’s yours.”_

_“No,” the Spinner replied slowly.  “She’s right.  She can’t trust me now.”_

_“So what?!” the Imp was incredulous.  “What does trust have to do with anything?  It doesn’t matter what she wants.  It doesn’t matterrrr!” the Imp was screaming.  “Stoooop herrrrr!”_

_“No,” the Spinner repeated._

_The Imp paused for a moment.  Then he began to whisper, “You’ve tasted her.  You’ve had her. You know how delicious she is.  You know she’ll respond to you.  She’s quite the treasure.  You’ve had her once, why forego the pleasure any longer? You can have her again, enjoy her.  She’ll scream and cry, but she’ll be enjoying it, I promise you. Go and take her.  She belongs to you!”_

_“Shut up!” the Spinner spit out._

+

Belle had shut herself in her bedroom.  She sat in the middle of her bed, having cried herself out earlier. 

_Maybe she’d been too unreasonable with her Master.  Having heard the entire story, he had done what he’d thought was best.  The bedding had been his effort to save her sanity. The dream memory had been his effort to save her grief and pain._

She looked at the little table by the bedside.  There was a tea tray on it -- with tea and a sandwich.  And there was also a vase with some deep purple hyacinths.  And there was a book, one that she had been reading and left by the fire near his spinning wheel.

+

_“So, it is as I was afraid.  You **are** the one fetching **her** tea now.  She’s supposed to be the one fetching for you.  And why did you put the flowers on the tray . . . and the book?!  What are you doing?” _

_“She needs some time.  I’m not going to starve her out.”_

_“Why the flowers?”_

_“They say that I’m sorry.”_

_“And the book?”_

_“She’s reading it right now.  I thought she’d like it with her,” the Spinner told the Imp._

_“She’s right.  You are an idiot,” The Imp told him, thoroughly disgusted and completely mystified by his behavior._

+

This went on for two days.  Belle would find her meals on the side table.  Sometimes there would be another book.  Sometimes he would send her some of her needlework.  Other times there would be little presents, a music box, a little tube that displayed changing patterns when she would look into it, more flowers.

It was late in the afternoon when she heard him outside of the room. 

“Belle,” she heard him clearly.  “I know you can hear me.  I wanted you to know that I’ve put wards around this room.  No one, not even I, can come into this room unless you invite them and you must invite them each time they come in.  This is your safe place.  I don’t want you to be afraid, not of me.”

Belle hesitated just a moment.  She opened the door.  He was standing right outside the room. 

He didn’t say anything else.  She didn’t say anything. He turned and started to walk away.

She couldn’t let him go.  She ran over to him and put her arms around him.

He turned his head to look down at her.  “Belle?”

“Just promise me you will talk to me, tell me about things,” she said to him, relishing the warmth of his body, the textured leather of his vest and smooth silk of his shirt, the odd spicy scent of the creature.

He turned so that he was facing her and took her hands in his.  “I can try Belle.  But,” he shook his head.  “It is hard for me.  I may fail you again and again.  But I can try.”

“Then I will try too,” she told him.  “I will try to remember how hard it is for you to open up to another person, to share yourself.”

“Trickery is part of my nature, Belle.  It’s who I am,” he warned her, holding her closely, her arms still wrapped around him.  Their faces were less than an inch from each other.  If she would only tilt her head back. 

She tilted her head back.

If only he would lean forward just a bit, a tiny bit.

He leaned forward.

It was a long moment.

He spoke first, “I think it’s . . .”

She blinked.  She finished what he was about to say, “tea time.  I’ll get the kettle on.”

They smiled and broke apart, both standing awkwardly, uncomfortable with the near intimacy now permeating the hallway.  She curtsied and went ahead of him, down to the kitchen to prepare his tea.  He followed slowly.

_The Imp uncoiled from its corner in his mind and slithered to the forefront of his thoughts.  “So, she’s back fixing you tea, the way things are meant to be.  I’m impressed with you Spinner.  I was beginning to think that you were tied to her prissy little apron strings.  Your little plan of niceness seems to have worked – not a direction I would have gone, but," the Imp shrugged, "whatever, you’ve returned the balance of power and she’s back in her place.”_

_The Spinner made no reply._

_The Imp couldn't resist one last snide remark, “But those ‘wards’ you put up . . . does she really think they’ll keep us out of her bedroom?”_


End file.
